Chapter Twenty-One
“Fuck this,” I said, storming through the penthouse, cheeks still wet, but eyes dry.
I’d always been good at turning hurt to anger. Because hurt was messy and useless. But anger? Anger could fuel you.
I certainly felt pumped up as I stomped through the common area, gathering up my books, notebooks, sweaters, and blankets.
I didn’t know what I was doing, just that I didn’t want my stuff around his place anymore, that I probably didn’t want to be there either.
Was there still a chance that my stocks could take off and I could get an early annulment? Sure.
But I wasn’t sure if it was worth it for me to wait that out in his apartment.
He clearly wasn’t sick enough of my mess to say or do anything about it anyway. If I wasn’t annoying him into a divorce, there was no reason for me to be in the penthouse at all anymore.
Once I had most of my crap piled in the guest room, I stormed back out, started a pot of coffee I knew I was going to need, then made my way downstairs to find John.
“Need to go somewhere, Mrs. Valentine?”
“Yeah. Wherever the closest… box store is.”
“Box store?” he asked.
“Yeah, you know, like… moving boxes. I need moving boxes.”
The way the area around his eyes went slack was the only indication he felt anything at all about the request.
“Of course,” he agreed, opening the back door for me.
Maybe he’d report back to Harrison.
I didn’t care.
Harrison would find out soon enough either way when he came home to an empty apartment.
“Dammit,” I grumbled, dropping an armful of boxes as I tried to get my ringing phone out of my pocket.
“Do you ever answer texts anymore?” Willa greeted me when I finally swiped to answer.
“Sorry. I’ve been running around,” I admitted, gathering up the boxes and sticking my face in front of the security monitor.
“How goes Operation: Annoy My Husband Into A Divorce?”
“Failing, mostly. He’s too patient.”
“The asshole,” Willa said with a small laugh.
“So, yeah, I’m packing up and heading out.”
“To where?”
“I haven’t thought about it yet. But somewhere.”
“Well, you know my spare room is open.”
“I do,” I agreed.
Suddenly, that didn’t feel right anymore.
It made no sense. I’d always loved crashing and then moving on. Something had changed, though.
Maybe it was as simple as living in a space for longer than a few days with literally everything I owned.
“I don’t know, though. Maybe it’s time to get an apartment of my own,” I said after dropping half the boxes in my room and then going back to grab a coffee.
“Really?” Willa asked.
“Yeah. It’s… it’s been kind of nice being in one place, I guess.”
“Did you consider that maybe it’s the company that’s been nice?”
“Willa.” My voice held warning.
“I’m not trying to play matchmaker. Lord knows I’m the worst person in the world to give any kind of relationship advice.”
“Hey, don’t do that.” Her situation was complicated. But not because of anything she’d done wrong. Just an asshole guy doing asshole guy things.
“Actually, that was kind of why I was calling.”
“Is everything okay? The baby?”
“I’m fine! I went to the doctor, though. So I sent you a picture of the sonogram. Don’t get too excited. It really doesn’t look like anything yet. The tech kept trying to point things out to me, but I could never see what she was talking about.”
“Well, to be fair, I lied to Billie and all the others anytime they asked if I saw the leg or head or… whatever it was.”
“It wasn’t just me!” she said, laughing. “Okay. That makes me feel better. But, yeah, I sent it over this morning.”
“I will look at it and pretend to see things as soon as we hang up. How are you doing with… everything?”
“I’m good. Mostly. Oh, I should probably warn you, though. If you do decide to come stay here, you might need to prepare yourself for construction noises.”
“Again?”
“I know,” she said, sighing. “It’s insane how much work I’ve had to have done on a house this expensive. I almost considered moving, but it just feels like too much stress with… everything else going on.”
“And at this point, how much more could possibly need to be fixed?”
“Right?”
“Well, I consider myself warned. And I will text or call you once I decide what I’m doing. So far, my plan just involves getting my stuff packed up.”
“Okay. I hope we see you soon, no matter what you decide is next.”
“I love you too,” I said, knowing that was what she was really saying.
“Okay. Good. Now, go get to work.”
I hung up, toggling over to the text, then opening the sonogram image that, yep, showed me exactly nothing but a vague whiteness on a black background.
I downloaded it.
Then went to check my files to make sure it saved, so I could have something made with it for her when it was time to start thinking about showers and whatnot.
“What the hell…” I said, seeing dozens of videos and pictures that I didn’t remember taking.
As a whole, I wasn’t someone who took a lot of pictures.
I really preferred to be in the moment. Nothing felt more dystopian to me than being at a concert or something and watching thousands of people watching the thing through the phone screens they were holding up in the air.
Taking a quick picture or clip was one thing; living your life through your phone was another.
So, really, I rarely ever looked back through my files since I didn’t expect there to be much to look at.
But clearly, there had been one night when I’d changed my mind about that.
I had a sinking feeling I knew exactly what night that was.
I scrolled down to where they all started. It was a picture of a blackjack table. I guess I wanted to commit the memory of winning that one time.
Weird. But okay.
From there, it was various pictures of random venues around Vegas.
Two different casinos.
A store.
A coffee place.
In all of them?
Me.
And Harrison.
Both looking extremely happy. It was bursting out of our pores.
I kept scrolling, seeing the engagement ring on my finger in a hand that was entwined with his.
There was the dress, which was a picture taken of me by Harrison. I could see him reflected in the mirror behind me as I stood outside of the dressing room.
My heart felt like it was pounding out of my chest.
Why hadn’t I thought to look for any of this sooner? Maybe I wouldn’t have felt so damn confused about how the wedding happened if I had seen the progression of us over the night.
There was another image of us in the backseat of a car, my legs draped over his lap, my head on his shoulder.
I felt a squeeze in my heart, like some part of me remembered that moment, even if no memories surfaced.
There were a bunch of weird, random short videos of him, of me, of us laughing or eating. I could practically see myself getting drunker with how the camera panned around at a nauseating speed.
The last video showed a familiar room.
The tile in the bathroom of Harrison’s hotel suite.
I hit the video and felt my air rush out of me as past-me turned the phone.
Then I was looking into my own face. My makeup was a little smudged, my eyes red. But I seemed lucid.
“Hey, future me. If you’re confused and watching this…don’t panic.”
Alone in Harrison’s apartment, I snort-laughed.
“I know this looks insane. Like really crazy. But I need you to listen.” I paused, looking at the bathroom door like I heard something.
When I spoke again, my voice was a little lower.
“I’m drunk,” I confessed unnecessarily. “But I’m not drunk-confused.
I’m drunk-honest. And if I’m honest, I think we both know we’ve been waiting our whole life for someone who doesn’t feel like a risk.
” I paused, laughed a little. “Which is ironic, I know. But Harrison? He doesn’t feel like a bet, like a chance.
He feels like a sure thing. He is a sure thing. ”
I turned to smile at the door where I heard Harrison call my name.
“One sec!” I called. Then, back to the camera, “We didn’t marry him because it was Vegas.
And if you’re watching this all mad at him, don’t be.
He didn’t pressure us. He didn’t even ask twice.
We said yes because this was the first thing in our whole life that didn’t feel like a gamble. It felt safe. He feels safe.”
I paused again, then exhaled hard. “So if future-me is being stubborn and trying to undo this, past-me is here to tell you that you’re doing it because you’re scared. Not because it’s wrong. So, yeah, stop being a chickenshit. Now, I have to get all this butter off of me…”
The video ended right there.
Casually.
Like it didn’t just rip the rug out from underneath me.
Yes, I was drunk in the video. But I was also very clear, very sure. I wasn’t slurring or being crazy. I knew exactly what I was saying. What I was, perhaps more importantly, feeling.
Was some cynical part of me still struggling to understand what had transpired to make the two of us so certain about the literal rest of our lives? Yeah, of course.
But there had been something.
And it wasn’t just the tequila.
And it wasn’t just me.
Harrison, who by all accounts was a calm, rational, careful man, had also made this decision.
Something had felt right.
Maybe if I hadn’t spent the last few weeks trying to believe otherwise, I might have let myself see the things that past-me had seen so quickly.
I sat down on the bed.
And hit play again.
And again.
And again.
And that, that was exactly where Harrison found me some time later.
“I thought you left,” he said, voice small.
“I was going to.”
“But?” he asked, stepping closer.
I patted the spot beside me. There was only a short hesitation before he sat down.
“But I found this,” I told him.
Then I hit play.
I didn’t watch the video.
I knew it by heart.
I watched him watching the video.
And I saw him melt, everything softening except the little creases by his eyes, which only etched deeper as his smile spread.
“I was wondering why you were in there so long.”
He hit it one more time, and I watched him watch it through again.
Then flip through some of the other pictures and videos.
“We had fun,” I said, more from the proof than memory.
“We did. My only regret is that you don’t remember it.” He handed me my phone back. “If I realized the liquor would wipe your mind, I would have cut you off.”
“I don’t know what I was thinking. I don’t drink that much.”
“We were celebrating. I think the tequila works slow on you. You were completely normal. Until, suddenly, all at once, you weren’t.”
“Yeah, gin is sneaky like that with me too.”
“Can I ask you something?” he asked.
“Yeah, go ahead.”
“What are you thinking about that?” he asked, tapping my phone.
That was a good question.
It was something I’d been asking myself since I first watched it.
“I honestly don’t know. But…”
“But?”
“Well, past me is right. I am stubborn.”
“Might have noticed that myself.”
“You’re one to talk,” I shot back, nudging him with my shoulder.
“I know when something is worth holding onto.” When I said nothing, his hand went to my thigh, giving it a squeeze. “Talk to me.”
“Past me was right about another thing too. I think I have always been scared.”
“Of taking the wrong risk?”
“Something like that, yeah. Playing the wrong hand. Wasting something even more valuable than money.”
“I get that. But if you’ll forgive the metaphor… the cards are already dealt. Why not just play the hand?”
“Give this a try.”
“Yeah. Maybe you will find what past you found. But this time, you’ll remember it.”
“I don’t even know what trying looks like,” I admitted. “I think you can imagine that my lifestyle hasn’t exactly been conducive to long-term relationships.”
“I’m not asking for anything from you. Just to be here. To be you. To maybe not pretend to be so messy.”
“Oh, about that,” I said, wincing. “I am actually kind of messy.”
“Are you? Or have you just never had somewhere to put your stuff?”
“I have no idea. I totally was trying to make the common area a mess too. Oh, and only a psychopath would organize the pantry in alphabetical order.”
“I was seriously questioning your sanity with that one,” he admitted. “I don’t mind a little mess.”
“Liar.”
“What?”
“I’ve never seen anyone load the dishwasher as much as you do. And don’t think I don’t hear that robot vacuum running all night long. I can’t prove it, but I’m pretty sure you also squeegee the shower each time you get out.”
“I do,” he agreed, smiling. “Think cleaning up after myself might be because I was so friendly with the housekeeper growing up, and I didn’t want to create more work for her.”
“You know, they sell stuff to spray on the glass so the water just slides off, no marks?”
“Yeah?”
“Laziness has its perks,” I said with a nod.
“So, what do you say?”
“To staying?”
“Yeah. But without all the walls. And the games.”
“Um, well…”
“The stock challenge still stands,” he said, reading my mind.
“Then I think maybe we can try.”
“That’s all I can ask. Now, I was thinking Alfredo for dinner.”
“Yes, please.”
“Wanna come keep me company while I cook?”
“Depends.”
“On what?”
“If we can watch my buddy’s stream.”
“Why do I sense something mischievous behind those eyes?”
“What? It’s a stream. He reads poetry!”
Erotic poetry.
While he lazily jerked off.
And his target audience was fellow gay men. But he’d been my cousin’s neighbor for years, and I was his first subscriber since back then, so I was determined to always support him.
“I get the feeling you’re going to keep me on my toes.”
“Oh, don’t worry, you’ll learn to love it.”
“I don’t doubt that.”